I don’t need to know, some part of me whispered. But the lie in the words echoed behind them. Because eventually, we would have to unearth those buried bones, along with whatever else West was hiding from me.

SIXTEEN

I sat on the floor against the wall, watching the beam of morning light crawl across the tassel-edged rug until it touched my toes. The hours had passed in silence, with only the occasional sound of boots outside the closed door.

West stood at the window watching the street, and I could see the finery of his coat much better in the light. The burgundy wool fell to his knees, the color making his hair look even more fair, and I wondered how in the world anyone had gotten him into it. Even his boots were shined.

I hadn’t slept, watching West’s tired eyes stare out the window. He looked as if he hadn’t closed them in days, the cut of his cheekbones sharper.

As if he could feel my attention on him, he looked over his shoulder. “You all right?”

“I’m all right,” I said, my eyes dropping to his hands. The last time I’d seen West, he told me he’d killed sixteen men. I wondered how many it was now. “You’re worried about them,” I said, thinking of the Marigold.

“They’ll be fine.” I could tell he was reassuring himself, not me. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

A soft knock sounded at the door and we both stilled. I hesitated before I got to my feet, grimacing when the stitches in my leg pinched. My wrinkled skirts rustled as I walked barefoot across the carpets, and when I opened it, a small woman stood in the hall with a fresh frock in her arms. It was a delicate pale pink fabric, almost the same hue that colored the walls of the room.

Clove still stood against the banister out on the salon, his box of coin sitting at his feet. He’d stayed out there all night.

“I’ve come to dress you,” the woman said, looking up at me.

“I’m not a doll,” I snapped. “I don’t need to be dressed.”

Behind her, Clove stifled a laugh.

The woman looked confused. “But the hooks—”

I snatched the frock from her hands and closed the door before she finished. The garment shimmered as I held it up, inspecting it. It was garish, with a high neck and a pleated skirt.

West seemed to be thinking the same thing, wincing as if looking at it hurt him.

I dropped it on the bed with a huff and reached back for the closures of the blue frock I was wearing. The fastenings at the top came undone with a snap, and when I couldn’t reach the ones at the center, I groaned.